Jumper
by Simon920
Summary: Robin Dick Grayson happens upon a young lady who's...upset.


Warnings: Angst, l I suppose. Deathfic? Maybe.

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Jumper**

The snow had stopped but it was cold, really cold. The blizzard had turned into a nor'easter, dumping almost two feet and counting on Gotham, the wind was blowing the sleet sideways and Robin cold, seriously cold. His feet hurt, his hands were going numb and all he wanted was to be inside and warm and no one was on the streets, no people no dogs, no pigeons, nothing. No thing.

Time to head for the barn.

"Robin, come in."

"Yeah?"

"...Location?" The momentary pause was an obvious comment on his lack of enunciation which didn't bear acknowledging.

Like the GPS was broken? "I'm just passing Wayne Tower." Bruce, or rather, Batman was back in the cave running computer matches on fingerprints and ballistics for the current jewelry robbery case and Robin was supposed to be on a stakeout but...

"Head over to the car and head home."

Thank god. It was one of those rare nights when the weather was too crummy even for the criminals so home close to midnight was a welcomed and unexpected treat. Just before Robin was about to start his free fall dive down forty stories to the hidden Batmobile he barely half glimpsed the figure on the building roof out of the corner of his eye.

A gargoyle.

No, a person. Probably. The snow and freezing rain were so heavy it was hard to tell.

Swerving, he circled back for a closer look. A woman, sitting on the ledge, her feet hanging loose over the side, her hands on the cold cement by her sides, a coat, hanging opened and blowing in the gale force wind, her hair whipping. She had to be freezing.

She was alone.

Dammit.

All right. Fine, he had to do what he had to do because he knew it was the right and only decision. He had to stop, of course he had to stop but it was just so frigging cold. He landed silently on the far side of the roof, unnoticed by the woman huddled a hundred feet away. He studied her for long seconds then approached slowly, carefully. No one in their right mind would be out here and so that meant he was dealing with someone with an agenda.

'Sitting on a roof ledge in the worst storm of the decade; y'think? Robin mentally smacked himself and considered his options.

Thank god his uniform was lined with Thinsulate, but it wasn't enough, not tonight.

She waited until he was about fifteen feet away. "Leave me alone" then shifted her weight forward to emphasize her meaning.

"Whatever's bothering you, we can talk about it inside. It's too cold out here and the wind's too loud."

No answer. He took a step closer.

"Don't." Her head was down, her eyes on what she could see of the street, four hundred feet below. He stopped.

"Why are you out here, would you tell me?"

No answer.

"Maybe I could do something to help." She shook her head. "We won't know unless you talk to me. Please?"

Her eyes flicked to him for the briefest moment. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen. How old are you?"

"Older than you." She shivered, it was around fifteen degrees and the wind was blowing hard. "Twenty-three. You're what—high school?"

He nodded. "I still might be able to do something. I'd like to try, if you'd let me."

"'Step out of your perfect life and help the poor, stupid idiot sitting on the ledge so you get your picture in the paper again?"

He started towards he but was stopped by another look. "I won't tell anyone, I promise. No one will know anything."

She shook her head again.

"Bad stuff happens to everyone. Whatever has you upset—it's not forever."

She shook her head, not buying it. "Like someone like you ever had any real problems. You don't know anything."

He took a step closer. "My life isn't perfect."

Jesus, it was cold.

"I'd lay odds it's a long sight better than mine is."

"Everyone has problems. I do, my friends do; you're not the only one who has crappy stuff going on in their lives; problems can usually be solved." He paused, that was way too Mary Poppins. "Okay, most of them can be and most can at least be made better. Sometimes another person can see things you can't, you know, because they're not as close to what's bothering you." Another hard gust caught his cape, whipping it around his legs.

Jesus. His feet were going numb.

The woman shifted her weight, moving another inch closer to the edge.

"What's your name?"

"Helen." She saw a flicker of an expression on his face, or thought she did. "What?"

"Nothing, I just used to have an aunt named Helen."

"I'm not your aunt."

This was good,; make a connection with the potential suicide and he might have a chance to get them some help. "No, you're not. It's just that's an old fashioned name, I mean, no offense or anything, you just don't hear it much anymore, how'd you end up with it?"

"'Named after my grandmother." She wrapped her arms around herself, trying for a little more warmth. "Robin your real name? That's kind of twee."

Actually he'd always kind of liked it. "No, it's just my y'know, working name. 'For security and stuff." Good, get her talking, keep her talking.

"How'd you end up with it—your grandmother?" And she'd actually made eye contact.

And a joke, good, keep it going. "My mother called me that, it was my nickname when I was little. I guess it stuck."

"Why?"

"Why did it stick?"

"No, why did she call you Robin?"

He took another relaxed step—as relaxed as he could be under the circumstances, his cape wrapped around him for some added warmth. "My birthday, it's in the spring so she used to call me her robin."

"Oh." Losing interest or refocusing on her original plans, she turned back to the street below. There was a lull in the wind and the snow and sleet stopped stinging as much.

"Helen, what are you doing up here?" His voice was gentle, calm and held genuine curiosity. She didn't respond. "There are better answers than this."

Her answer mirrored his quiet question, at least in it's soft tone. "Fuck all you know about it."

"So tell me about it." He was close to her now, maybe five feet away.

"My parents..." Her voice trailed off.

"What about them? Did they say something, do something?"

She nodded. Then, "You have no idea, you have a perfect life—famous, everyone loves you, all those magazines you're in. I bet you have girls throwing themselves at you all the time. Nothing really bad ever happens to people like you." She was suddenly angry at the unfairness, tears spilling down her reddened cheeks. "I bet when you get home your mother will be there with hot chocolate and then'll tuck you into bed with a fucking kiss."

"My mother is dead, b-both my parents are."

"Well, la-de-fucking-da, Mr. Oliver Twist." Another gust blew her hair, stiff with ice and she turned full face to look at him, saw his expression. "'Oh crap, I'm, sorry; that was pretty obnoxious. How did it happen,? I mean, if you'll tell me."

"It's okay, it was a long time ago." Besides, he was used to telling people, he'd been doing it for almost a decade. "They were murdered, organized crime, in front of me. I was eight."

"So now you do this."

"So n-now I do this." The wind picked up again, the temperature was going down further. "So what did they do, your p-parents, I mean."

"...Nothing."

Right, she didn't see like a spoiled runaway or any of that she seemed like whatever her problem was, it was a real problem. He didn't bother to argue, he just waited. "I'm pregnant." He sat beside her, facing the roof instead of the street. "I'm not really twenty-three, I'm fifteen."

"Are you afraid to t-t-tell them because of what they'll do to you or because you're afraid of hurting them?" It made a difference. "You have to know there's a l-l-lot of help out t-t-t-there." Robin began shivering violently, was starting to have trouble talking. Hypothermia was setting in. "Look, let's go inside, we're going to freeze out here, for r-r-real."

"You can go in, I'm okay."

"Bullshit. C'mon, we'll talk where it's warm and I'm not going to leave you."

He seemed like a nice guy and Helen deliberated for a long few moments before reluctantly sliding her legs around and stiffly stood up, letting Robin take her hand and lead her over to the stairs to the top floor. He looked really cold, though she'd passed numb a while ago. It didn't seem fair that he should be in pain just because of her and her stupid problems. Closing the heavy door behind them the relative warmth, or rather the lack of snow, wind and subfreezing air seemed to hit them like a physical force. They both sank to the steps, too weak to go down just yet.

"Thank you, I couldn't have stood it out there much longer."

She didn't quite smile. "Me neither." She gave him a searching look in the relative brightness of the open stairwell. "Your skin is gray and your lips are blue—cyanotic; I learned that in school, the b-blood is in your torso to try to k-keep you alive." She started rubbing his arms and legs, trying to help him get warm, get his circulation going to his limbs. It wasn't right, Robin was suffering because she was an idiot.

"You were out there longer than I was, you must be even colder than I am. C'mon, let's get down to a real floor." This was Wayne Tower, the top floor, the penthouse was home to the senior executives, including Bruce and Lucius' offices and he knew his way around blindfolded—not that she needed to know that. Robin had a key but there was no way he could use it without the girl being suspicious. "Just give me a minute here." He could pick any lock, 'piece of cake.

"Sure, take your time." He heard her moving behind him, just a little. "Thank you, for helping."

He turned to the door, working the tumblers, pausing when his communicator spoke in his ear.

"I'm at Wayne Tower trying to get warm, I'll let you know when I'm ready to leave."..."No, everything's fine, I was just cold, that's all."..."The car should be fine, don't worry about it, everything's okay."... "That's right, 'later." He half turned back to Helen, "Sorry, he just wanted to know why I'm not back yet."

"He, Batman?"

"Uh-huh." He almost had the fire door to the penthouse offices opened. "This won't take much longer."

"It's okay."

"'You any warmer?"

"Yes, lots, thanks."

He finished the top lock and was starting on the deadbolt, his attention on getting the door opened without using his keys. "There are lots of things you can do, you have to know that; about the baby, I mean. There's no law saying that you have to have it and if that is what would work best for you, I know clinics that will help you. If you don't want to go that route, you can give it up and I can make sure it ends up in a good home or you could raise it yourself—that's not easy, but you have to know that. You could do it though. There are schools which specialize in allowing pregnant girls to matriculate." The door was open. "I mean, you just have a lot of choices. I can help if you'll let me."

No answer.

"Helen?" He turned, she was gone.

What?

She—oh...no. She couldn't, could she?

Oh...fuck.

No.

He looked over the railing. She was down there, the edge of her coat was just visible maybe half way down the endless, forty-three stories of stairs, zig-zagging down the building, the open stairwell an architectural feature highlighted by the building length windows along one entire side.

She'd jumped while he was screwing around with the stupid locks, the stupid locks he had keys for.

Oh god.

She'd let him bring her inside so he wouldn't be cold and then jumped while his back was turned, his attention distracted because he thought she was safe, that she'd decided to...that she'd changed her mind. Instead she'd just adjusted her plans.

* * *

Four in the morning, the wind had stopped but the snow was still coming down with white out intensity. Dick was sitting in the conservatory, beside the indoor pool, tendrils of steam coming off the water in the cool room as he stared out the floor to ceiling windows. Unseen, Bruce watched him, listened to him talk on the phone to god knew who.

''She only went inside with me because she saw I was cold." He shook his head, his eyes still focused on the snow. "Don't you get it? She was worried about _me_." He listened for a long minute then, "That doesn't matter; if I hadn't screwed up, if I'd paid attention instead of pretending to pick the fucking lock, I could have stopped her, gotten her help." Another space of silence. "Sure, and I have to live with it—my fault, she's dead and it's my fault." Frustrated silence. "Sure, I know that. I have to go, okay? I'll talk to you tomorrow." Anxious to hang up then, "I know, I will. Sure. I'll call you after school—shit, there probably won't be any, snow day. I'll call you tomorrow." He closed the phone, still watching and not seeing the storm, lowered his head and wiped his eyes.

11/29/09


End file.
